Five Things That Never Happened to Bunnie Rabbot
by Scribbler
Summary: Choices make our world. Yet for every choice we make, another universe is born where we chose differently. The possibilities are endless, if not always pretty. [Now with additional conclusions]
1. A Twist of Fate

**Disclaimer – **Nothing here is mine, alas.

**Timeline –** SatAM, although there are strains of Sega Sonic and some Archieverse mixed in, too.

**A/N –** The 'five things that never happened' device is one used by many authors – usually to great effect. However, in approaching it, I decided not to just create five wildly AU worlds that have nothing to do with the original material beyond character names. I mean, where's the fun in that? Instead, I picked five points in Bunnie's past that were real turning points for her, and sent her in the opposite direction to see where she ended up. The result is this fic. Sometimes the change is subtle. Sometimes it's colossal. All I can ask is; give it a chance to make sense and it will.

**Feedback –** Dear God, _yes_! Please review me!

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_Five Things That Never Happened to Bunnie Rabbot_

© Scribbler, January 2005

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1. _A Twist of Fate_

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Bunnie stood by her window and looked out to the horizon. In the dying sun, branches reached like arthritic fingers, and a thin rime of frost had already begun to form everywhere.

She felt Knuckles coming up behind her, his movement stirring the air ever so slightly. His footfalls were soft as the beat of a butterfly's wing, despite his boots, and his scent rose about her like fog. His was a distinctive aroma – musk and turned earth and that disgusting acorn coffee that nobody else liked.

"Hey."

He didn't answer. He'd been quiet ever since he and Dulcy got back from the Seeing Pool. Bunnie hadn't asked, and he hadn't volunteered any information, but she knew he'd been successful. He'd seen the person he might have been. And it had added new wrinkles to his brow.

They stood in silence until he asked, "Have you eaten anything?"

"I think there's an oat farl hangin' around here someplace." She gestured at her desk, which overflowed with charts, diagrams and other bits of paper.

"If it's hanging around here, then you haven't eaten it."

She shrugged. "Guess I got distracted. I'll find it before it goes green. Probably." There was no apology in her voice.

Knuckles grunted and pressed something into her hand. She looked down. It was a wedge of cheese and some bread with butter on.

"Not quite a royal banquet, but - " He made a flaccid gesture with one glove.

"It was sweet of you, all the same." She pecked him on the cheek. He received it, then all but pushed her into a chair and watched her eat.

"You haven't been taking care of yourself lately," he admonished.

Again, she showed no remorse for her actions. The cheese was rubbery, but the bread was fresh enough to still be soft in the middle. It smelled of flour and crushed sunflower seeds, and reminded her of when she was four and snuck down to the castle kitchens to steal enough cinnamon rolls until both she and Knuckles felt quite sick. Their fathers had thought the resulting tummy-aches punishment enough, and let them moan and groan their way to the childish promise that they would never, ever, _ever_ eat cakes again.

The memory made her pause. She turned the cheese over in her hands, then put it down and rubbed her fingers over both sets of her own knuckles. Her fur was coarser than it used to be – a result of hard labour and unrefined soap. She was getting bald patches on her right thumb and index finger where her pen pressed in. Even with Nicole, she still wrote too much. There were reams of spidery scrawl scattered about her hut that evidenced it. She found things stayed in her brain more when she could picture them in her own handwriting instead of computerised digits.

"Do you reckon he'll come?" she asked suddenly.

She didn't look up to see, but she _felt _Knuckles raise an eyebrow. "Sonic? I don't know."

"He knows how much we need him."

"I know how thick his head is, too."

She shot him a warning look. "If he _does _come, you give him less of that lip, or he'll run right back to that island of his."

Knuckles let a breath out through his nose. "I still don't see why we can't handle this on our own - "

"It's too risky. With his speed, we might just stand a chance of breakin' the back of this ore shipment. Without it… there's still a chance, but it'd be a lot slimmer." Her hands balled into fists on her thighs. "An' that's not a risk I'm willin' to take."

He didn't need her to spell out what she was thinking. She thought about it so much, it was difficult for him not to guess and be right every time. And besides, he'd _been_ there when they pulled the body free, when they ran from the complex, when the smog gave way to sunlight that ruffled fur and bounced off smooth, hard metal…

It wasn't Knuckles's way to kneel beside her, or put an arm around her shoulders, or even pat her on the head. His claws were his greatest weapons, but a childhood with them had made him jumpy about physical contact in case he accidentally hurt someone. If anything, since ­his father set up the power rings for him – a contingency plan finished right before he himself was roboticised – Knuckles had only got worse.

It made things interesting when a rescue involved carrying someone from a scene.

"Sally was in here earlier."

He shifted his feet slightly, as if wanting to touch her, comfort her, do all the things he'd never let himself do. But he stayed where he was.

"She's been cuttin' her hair again. Barely covers her ears anymore. She says it's better she don't have nuthin' obscurin' her vision on such a big mission."

"Rotor said she's much better at using her leg implants now." It was the closest thing he got to reassurance. And it wasn't enough.

"I know." It was the closest Bunnie got to thanking him for the attempt. And it wasn't enough, either. "He tightened the bolts in her arm this afternoon. After this is all over, he's maybe going to be puttin' some extension implants in below her elbow, too. She says… she says she asked him if it were possible. _She _asked _him_." Bunnie closed her eyes and breathed like one of those meditation techniques Sally had showed her. It was supposed to help calm her down, but she might as well have been trying to turn invisible, for all the effect it had.

"Sally knows what she's doing."

"Does she?"

"It isn't wise to start with this tonight."

"You… no, you're right. You're right." Bunnie sighed and got to her feet.

The cheese was left uneaten, but Knuckles didn't say anything about it.

The undercurrent of guilt was still present in her mind, but she packed it away and shelved it to peruse another time. It sat alongside a host of other, similar memories: times she'd been too young, too slow, too inexperienced, too _weak _to help, and the consequences of each.

And there _would _be another time to think about them. There always was. And there would be until the day they found a long-term treatment for roboticisation – with or without deposing Robotnik first.

Knuckles stayed at her shoulder as she rummaged through her paperwork and exhumed Nicole. He pointed to her under a graph of West Continent Robian to Mobian ratios. "What would I do without you around to drag me back to Mobius?" Bunnie asked, not of the computer.

"I'm here to serve, my princess," Knuckles replied softly.

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	2. Seconds Too Late

**A/N –** The art that inspired this segment can be found at w w w dot satamsonic dot com/fanart/cionex/MechaBunnie dot jpg Although obviously you'll have to bring each w into line and replace 'dot' with a full stop.

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2. _Seconds Too Late_

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They were sat in the lee of a storage silo and Sally was wearing her Not Happy face.

"I'm not happy about this," she said needlessly.

Bunnie and Sonic looked at her with pleading eyes – or at least Sonic did. Bunnie just beeped softly, twinkling diodes the only indication she was online.

"Sal, we had two options, and we've blown one of 'em. It's either this or heading back to Knothole with our cute little tails between our legs," said Sonic.

Sally's brow was knitted so tight there was practically a sweater on her forehead. "It's too dangerous." Both of them had known her long enough to know that she had eight different ways of saying that sentence. This time was Version Six: Explanation to a Slow Kit.

Sonic parried with, "Moi? I'm Danger's worst nightmare! I tweak the nose of Danger. I give Danger a wedgie. No, I give Danger the _king_ of all wedgies!"

"Except that you aren't the one taking the major risk."

"Hel-lo? That's why Bun-Bun here _insisted_ we tell you first."

"That made no sense."

"Sally," Bunnie broke in. "Forgive me for interruptin', but time ain't 'zactly on our side. Not to be disrespectful or nuthin', but are y'all gonna give the say-so or not?"

"I…" Sally bit her lip. She glanced down at Nicole, then up at the smoggy sky. Finally she let out a gusty breath and said, "In and out, quick as you can. No needless heroics. You understand me?"

"Hear you loud and clear, Sally-girl. Sonic? If y'all would be so kind."

Sonic leaped to his feet and scooped her into his arms. "Way ahead of you, Bun-Bun."

It was an interesting sensation, being carried at super-speed. Bunnie knew that any other creature would suffer from the adverse side effects of g-force, but she arrived at the power station in much the same condition as she'd started the journey. She didn't even need to pause and let her stomach resettle like Sally did, and Sally travelled the Sonic Express more than anyone.

"Okay." Sonic glanced around the corner so fast he was a blur. Bunnie catalogued and replayed at a fractionally slower pace, just to make sure she wasn't imagining things. "Three guards that I can see."

"Stands to reason. This ain't 'zactly the heart of Robotnik's operation."

"Well, yeah, but there's usually at least five. Maybe the other two are out of sight. If they're here at all."

"Speakin' from experience, I'd say don't take no chances. See if y'all can draw all five out into the open 'afore you go tryin' a dang thing."

"Get it, got it, rocked and rolled it."

"So where are the three you can see?"

"Two SWATbots on the main entrance and one on the mezzanine."

"Mezzanine? I didn't know you _knew_ words like that, Sugar-hog."

He flashed her his best If-I-Weren't-Too-Cool-I'd-Be-Shit-Scared-Right-Now smile. "I like to keep a few things up my sleeve."

"Oh really?"

"Really really."

"Like?"

"Like this. Whooooooooooeeeeeee!" He revved and shot into view of the SWATbots, pausing long enough to blow a long, loud raspberry at them.

"_Hedgehog: Priority One_," droned the bots by the main entrance. They said it in perfect unison, their hive-like central processors locking onto the same command they always did when Sonic appeared. It made them tenacious as hell, but it was a loophole in their programming that lent itself to diversion, and the Freedom Fighters were thankful for it.

None more so than Bunnie. She heard the three bots clank off in pursuit, followed by an extra pair previously hidden around the back of a small ore silo. Sonic would lead them a merry dance, and – she hoped – it would give her enough time to finish and remove herself from the firing line. She was reasonably sure her new plating would stand up against conventional weapons, but she was in no hurry to test it outside controlled conditions just yet. Not if she could possibly help it.

With the guards gone, she had easy access to the control box on the outside of the building, and made short work of the security codes. She couldn't access much more from there, but it made a useful stepping-stone onto the higher systems if it could just get her _inside_…

Bingo.

The power station was full of Robian workers. Bunnie didn't seem at all out of place there, and since each were hard-wired for loyalty to Robotnik the SWATbot forces had been concentrated around the _outside _of the building. Doubtless, since there were no guards inside, there were more than just the usual five hanging around. No doubt Sonic was drawing all those off, too. He was good like that.

Sonic was good, but he wasn't invincible. Bunnie quickly found the main overseer consoles – unmanned unless Robotnik needed to close down the plant manually for some reason – and located a suitable socket.

as she unclipped the plate at the base of her skull and extracted the cable to plug herself in, she brushed against the power ring around her neck. It was there as a precaution, in case that first heavy dose of exposure to the Power Stone ever gave out and she had to be reminded who she was. She couldn't remember what it felt like to actually _touch_ a ring, but Sonic always described it as akin to when you drink soda too fast and all the bubbles come rushing down your nose.

Primed, ready and running out of time, Bunnie jacked in.

The power station's systems had an impressive level of redundancy that lost all impressiveness through the fact that there were virtually _no_ blocks between them and the higher networks. She cruised along a core byway, hiding amongst reams of secondary data so she could move on quickly without being noticed. She breezed past a mostly-repetitive diagram charting worker productivity, hop-skipped across plans to rebuild the SWATbots already destroyed this month, and found her opening amongst 3D impressions of the prison complex.

And then she was in.

Hm. Apparently Robotnik spent more time than usual on those half-dream plans for a citadel in his honour, yesterday. Oh well. Couldn't have a tyrant without the delusions of godhood, she supposed.

The citadel plans led her to Robotnik's personal logs, which were as high in priority as one might expect, given his ego and megalomania. Mostly they were filled with voice recordings of how much he hated 'that hedgehog' and, to a lesser extent, the rest of the Freedom Fighters. Bunnie bypassed them and rode a digital stream slightly lower.

Snively's logs were updated far more regularly than Robotnik's. They contained detailed fantasies of usurpment and tying 'Uncle Julian' up in the old castle dungeons for ritual torture. It figured the dungeons were the only part of Castle Acorn left unscathed after Robotnik's overhaul. However, the descriptions of what exactly Snively planned to do to Robotnik were rather too graphic and – above all – too trivial for Bunnie to pay much heed to.

Snively's fantasies _did_ lead her to plans for the dungeon, however, and from there she slipped into the cartography mainframe and accessed information on the new motion detectors installed in the main blocks and towers.

There were dozens converging on one spot. She homed in on it, trusting to luck. Yes, there was the roboticisation chamber… now all she had to do was code in an order for its defences and… seventeen motion detectors, thirty lasers, a series of metal projectiles that could be fired from five different locations, and fake walls, behind which dozens of souped-up SWATbots resided. SWATbot parameters followed subdirection 0.000759bf, stationed in delta and beta positions for optimal observational range. Proximity to central cylinders no more than six feet, radius programme 444.676ygh. Contingency instructions were charted according to present data consortium re: Sonic the Hedgehog plus keyword: speed plus keyword: maximum plus keyword: manoeuvrability –

She was taking everything. She'd meant to take everything. That was the plan. Take as much as she could and alter the remaining data to make it incorrect before… before…

Danger!

Her sensors flashed the warning at her milliseconds after she was moving away from the location. Tendrils of green followed her, _reached _for her, and she switched from system to system, higher to lower to higher to even lower, until she thought she'd lost it.

Evidently, Robotnik's viruses were getting stronger. The actual schematics for the roboticisor were behind so many walls, encryptions and security measures that it was impossible for Bunnie to break through without considerably more time than she was ever afforded. Even if she _could _get to a suitable access point for long enough, one of the living viruses he'd installed would find her long before she got past the first layers of code, alerting Robotnik and – no doubt – a horde of SWATbots as to her location.

She had to pull out. Now.

_Now_.

She was splitting off; following a line she'd attached herself to while trying to escape the virus. It took her deep into the historical reference index, into archives nobody ever retrieved anymore. She was seeing scanned parchments, fragments of Olde Acorne directives, photographs of the king as a baby. She was still in download mode, still taking everything she came across, absorbing data like a sponge with water. Her memory banks integrated all she sent them: image files, stacks of text, meaningless scraps of digital flotsam that Sally might like to see if she could upload them into Nicole – and with that unintentional thought she was off again, soaking up entire digitised photograph albums and nursery rhymes and fifteen-year-old prices for the fish market and recipes for oatmeal cookies –

The flood of information widened. She was keeping anything and everything she ran across. The historical citations were dense and thick, like molasses. She knew she had to pull out, but the irrelevancies were stacking up and she had to devote part of herself to wading through them or else she'd be swamped and it was too much too much_ too much_! Her conscious mind was _busy_ and her subconscious, or whatever she had there now, wasn't equipped to give the order.

"Bunnie! Abort! Abort _now_, Bunnie!"

The alarms in her head were strangely like actual alarms. The floor was vibrating at exactly the same frequency, and it was only in realising this that Bunnie also realised she was executing an emergency abort procedure.

She fell back into her own body, and all at once she was not so much resettled as _imprisoned_ in it, spasming and jolting under the onslaught of raw data. For some reason she was executing the integration in real-time, when usually she would have been happy with a small-to-large delay. Her memory banks were insisting it was like trying to give shelter to a billion new starving houseguests – simultaneously – with nothing more than a fiftieth-floor boondocks apartment and a pantry of fresh air.

In the end, the strain must have caused her to go offline for a while, because the next thing she knew she was staring up into a pair of worried blue eyes.

"New data incorporated," she said automatically, before she could even formulate the thought to say something else – something like, maybe, 'where the hell am I?'

The eyes lost their anxious slant and went out of view. "I _told_ you it was too dangerous," Sally said.

Bunnie sat up.

She was back in Knothole, in her own hut, with Sally and Sonic standing over her like concerned parents.

"Hm." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. In her peripheral vision a screen flashed up, displaying the words 'system operation: optimal'.

At least she hadn't sustained any lasting damage, then.

"Hm?" Sally threw up her hands. "Sonic comes back with you having a _seizure_, then you shut down completely, stay offline for the better part of three hours, and the best you can come up with is 'hm'?"

"Would y'all prefer an extra 'm'? Hmm?"

"Don't you get smart with me, Bunnie Rabbot. You damn near gave me a heart attack. After that, I think I deserve more than indeterminate grunts."

Bunnie felt the back of her head. The cable was still hanging out. She made to wind it back in out of habit, then paused and let it go again. "Can I borrow Nicole, please?"

"What?" Sally looked nonplussed, mapping it over her irritation.

Sonic's grin looked uncertain, but he gamely said, "Just give her the computer, Sal." Sonic always trusted Bunnie to know what she was doing. It was a heart-warming and terrifying thing.

"Well… okay." Sally unclipped Nicole from her boot and handed her over. "But I still want a really good explanation about what went wrong."

"What makes y'all think anythin' went wrong?" Bunnie asked, plugging her own cable into Nicole's port. Another screen outlined on her retina - blue this time, and scrolling down painstakingly catalogued records. Bunnie performed a brief scan and started the upload.

"Well, the aforesaid seizure and shut-down were a small giveaway that not everything went according to plan. Sonic telling me he had to force you to terminate and yank you out of Robotnik's system was another hint."

"I wasn't in any danger. Just got sidetracked an' made a miscalculation about my processin' capabilities." Bunnie saw the taskbar show 100 and contorted her face into an approximation of a smirk.

"For what? What could possibly be important enough to merit frying your own circuits?"

"This. Nicole, give us a visual of image file 'Bubble Butt'."

"_Acknowledged_." Nicole bleeped and projected a picture into the air between the three of them.

Sonic's mouth fell open. Sally clapped her hands in front of her face, a blush darkening the skin beneath her fur. Bunnie just kept up her shiny smirk.

"That's _you, _Sal!" Sonic exclaimed once he'd stuffed his tongue back into his mouth. "That's… man, you can't be more than a few seasons old in that picture!"

"This was… this was what sidetracked you?" Sally whispered.

Bunnie nodded. "Not intentionally. But once I found these, they were too juicy to pass up. I got dozens more of your li'l tush in here, Sally-girl. Plus some more of your Mammy an' Pappy, stretchin' back to when they was kids, an' all. I also got the security schematics I originally went in for, an' I messed up Robotnik's data on Sonic so good, he'll be pickin' zeroes from his teeth for _weeks_.But these make for better viewin', don't you think?"

The image flipped to one of Sonic crawling away from a familiar moustachioed hedgehog, who brandished a diaper at the escaping baby.

"Aw, man! No fair, Bun-Bun!"

Bunnie's smirk didn't waver. "Oh, I think it's plenty fair, Sugar-hog."

* * *


	3. Pattern Weaver

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3. _Pattern Weaver_

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They gave her food, and she ate it. She ate it because it was given to her, and if she didn't eat she would starve. She sort-of knew that she could get her own food, but how was a puzzling puzzle, and until she figured it out she was content to eat what she was given.

Creatures came with the food. Some were tall, but most were short and fuzzy. The biggest was scaly and couldn't really fit through the door, and made sounds through the window instead. One was covered in spikes, and talked very fast. She kind of liked him, but he didn't come very often. She thought she scared him – just a little.

She thought she scared a lot of people. She thought she didn't used to know how to know that, too, but now she did. It was strange, but the less she knew about some things, the more she knew about others. She couldn't remember names, couldn't remember happenings, couldn't even remember how to walk sometimes. Once or twice she'd forgotten how to breathe, and Pretty Blue had to do it for her until she remembered. Yet for all she'd forgotten, was forgetting, would forget, there were a hundred things she knew better than ever.

She knew how to balance on one hand. She knew how to read patterns in those funny picture cards. She knew what those patterns _meant. _She knew how to snap a spinal column in three easy moves, and how to cave in a ribcage with a single shove. She could break bones and crush tendons. She could peel a creature's trachea out of its throat with her bare hands, or drive its ribs into its lungs with her feet if she wanted to.

Pretty Blue didn't like it when she told her things like that. Pretty Blue always brought nice things to eat, and would sit by her while she stuffed them into her mouth. Sometimes Pretty Blue would talk quietly, others she'd just sit there, watching and drawing invisible pictures on her palms so she wouldn't have to look up.

She used to know her name, but now she was just Pretty Blue, with her pretty blue vest, pretty blue boots and pretty blue eyes.

Today Pretty Blue had brought apples with her. They sat on the floor, she and Pretty Blue, taking bites and chewing loudly. Golden light streamed in through the window, and every now and then she would try and catch some in her hands.

Pretty Blue looked at her strangely. "Trying to catch a sunbeam?"

"Is that what they're called?"

"Uh-huh."

She tried to catch another. It must have been very quick, because it slipped from her grasp without her even seeing it. She stared at her hands, mystified. "Sunbeams are very fast."

"Yes. They are."

"Are they even faster than Spiky-Spike?"

"You mean Sonic? His name is Sonic." It was said without much feeling.

The words were old and dusty, and she didn't take much notice of them anymore. Spiky-Spike suited him much better.

"And yes, they're even faster than him," Pretty Blue added.

She nodded and took another bite of apple. If Pretty Blue said it was true, then it was true. Pretty Blue knew everything worth knowing – even if sometimes she didn't say it all out loud. Sometimes, she got the feeling Pretty Blue wasn't telling her something really _important. _Sometimes she got the feeling she might like to know what it was, but she usually forgot about it soon after. Pretty Blue knew what was best.

The apples were really quite pretty. Much prettier than her drab little room, which was all she'd seen for… as long as she could remember. They were shiny and red, or sometimes green, or yellow. Occasionally they were mixtures of all three, but most of the time they were red, and shone like blood on glass.

"Apples are pretty," she declared.

"Hm?" Pretty Blue looked up. She hadn't been listening.

"I said, apples are pretty." She spun one on her finger. It fell off and bounced across the floor. Bits of juice spurted from the broken skin. "Pretty apples. Like li'l bleedin' hearts in my hands."

Pretty Blue's pretty blue eyes widened.

She shrank away. "I'm sorry. Is that sumthin' I'm not s'posed to talk about?"

"No, no, it's okay, Bu- It's okay."

She looked hard at Pretty Blue, who looked back with sad eyes.

"Do you want me to do another readin' for you?" She was scrabbling for her cards even as she said it. "Please?" Next to eating apples and talking to Spiky-Spike, reading the cards was her most favourite thing in the world today.

Pretty Blue bit her lip. "Sure… sure you can do a reading, if you like." Her jaw was doing that clenchy grim thing. It didn't fit right around her smile.

"You're worried about sumthin'. I don't gotta do a readin' to know that."

"I'm not worried - "

"Are too!"

"All right, all right, I'm worried about something."

"Tell me what it is." She didn't stop laying out the cards. They were a present from Two Tails, and her most treasured possession. He used to watch when she tossed sticks and pebbles about and read the patterns in them. One day, he'd turned up with some corncobs and a pack of cards he'd made and coloured himself. He let her do readings more than anyone else when he came to see her. Whenever one of her cards tore or wore out, he would make her another, and she would prize it until the day that it, too, was gone.

Pretty Blue gave her another funny look, and then asked, "How much do you remember about… when you got your metal parts?"

She paused, looked at her shiny silver bits and sniffed them. She'd forgotten they were there. They smelled tangy and brisk, and she suddenly recalled what freshly fallen snow smelled like. "I remember lots of yellow light. And hurt. Lots of hurt. Hurt that made my head go funny…" She rubbed at the base of one ear, then reached up and folded it in on itself to stop it up. Pretty Blue gently pried her fingers away before she made it sore again. "The yellow light made my legs and arm go hard, and it made me good at patterns. But… but it made me forget lots, too. Is that right?"

"Yes and no."

"Oh. Is that what you're worried about?"

"Yes and no."

"You ain't givin' proper answers!"

"Sorry." Pretty Blue sighed and scrubbed a hand through her hair. It was getting long again, all soft and wavy. She wanted to touch it, but the last time she did Pretty Blue got all strange and left in a hurry. She didn't want Pretty Blue to leave again. She didn't like being alone.

"Spiky-Spike says gettin' my silver bits screwed up my head. But I got me a real pretty head, don't I? I got long eyelashes and a cute button nose."

"Cute as a gumdrop," Pretty Blue agreed, distracted and cheerless.

She paused in turning over her cards, cocking her head to one side. It took a second to cross the space between them and cup Pretty Blue's face so she couldn't look anywhere else. "Don't be sad," she said sternly. "Things get bad when you're sad. The sky goes dark and nasty things pop into my head. I don't like thinkin' those things. I don't like tryin' to hurt folk."

"I'm not sad, I'm just… apprehensive," Pretty Blue said, prying her off with the same gentle touch as before. "Spiky-Spike and I are going on a journey. An important one."

"Oh." She sat back on her haunches. She never got to go anywhere. It was too dangerous to let her out, in case the bad thoughts came and she tried to make others hurt like she did, to make the thoughts go away again. Mental mishaps dogged her, and whenever the pinball machine in her head speeded up and went tilt, all bets were off. "Where to?"

"We're going to see someone."

"Who?"

"You don't remember the old legends, do you?"

"What's a legend?"

Pretty Blue let out a long breath. "We're going to try and fix things. We're going to go back and stop… stop Robotnik from… we're going to fix all this."

"All what?" She turned over a card and studied it thoughtfully.

"Everything."

She turned another, and another. They sang at her, voices sweet and bitter as homemade sin. "Even me?"

"Especially you."

"Hm." She frowned. "These ain't right."

"What?"

"The cards." She gestured at them. "There's sumthin' weird about this readin'."

"Maybe you didn't do it right."

"I _always_ do it right. It's what I do. I'm real good at patterns."

"Yeah. I guess so…"

She slapped her fuzzy palm on top of the arrangement. It made a sound like a book snapping shut, and Pretty Blue jumped a little. It wasn't a very loud or scary noise, and when Pretty Blue jumped she looked very small indeed. "Pretty Blue, you'd tell me if'n you needed me, right?"

"What a strange question - "

"Wouldn't you?"

"Why - "

"_Wouldn't you_?"

Pretty Blue blinked, smiled a fake smile, and said, "Of course I would, Bunnie."

She pursed her lips, wrinkled her nose, and swept the cards away with her metal hand. They scattered haphazardly across the floor. "Who's Bunnie?"

* * *

And because I'm such a scatterbrain I forgot to upload this, last time, here are some **Review Replies!**

Hey, **Orin**! Or should that be yay! Orin! I'm a Bunnie girl at heart, but Sally is a _fascinating _character all the same. So much potential. So royally screwed up by so many writers on so many levels. Hmf. Regarding Knuckles/Bunnie, I think I've had a soft spot for them since I rediscovered SatAM on channel POP! Around the same time I discovered _Sonic X_ for the first time. They just sort of… melded in my head, for no discernable reason than they wanted to. I can't explain it. And I believe I'm the only one who thinks they'd be cute together, so I'll just sit in the corner with my kinks and not other anyone.

Oh. Mygod. **CarriePika**.This is, like… I'm having difficulty finding my words, here. Which is unusual for me. When you first enter a fandom and poke around a little, you find a couple of names being thrown willy-nilly as the Authority on one thing or another. And… it's always scary when these archetypes of ficcery prove they're actually real, honest to god, live _people_. So… yeah. Excuse me a second while I go make some squealy noises of joy at your review.

Thanks, **celestical cimmerian catalyst**As for you question, Bunnie and Sally switched in that segment, and Sonic and Knuckles switched, too. Also, Knuckles's father Locke swapped with uncle Chuck, but that's only significant if you know the Archie-(comic)-verse. If you don't, it doesn't matter. I'm just pleased you liked it.

They are, aren't they, **Robert JF**? Not that I'm classing myself in any of the upper echelons but… even lower echelons are difficult to come by for SatAM.

Thanks, **Dano the Overlander**. Hope it lived up to expectations.

Will do, **Treasurehunter**!

* * *

Hope to see y'all next time. But meanwhile, a review or two might be nice. Hint-hint. 


	4. Kith and Kin

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4. _Kith and Kin_

* * *

There were days when Bunnie was insanely grateful she'd had an accident with a roboticisor after Cream was too old to be termed 'baby in arms'. It wasn't so much that she was frightened of hurting her, but… well, actually, yes it was. She was overwhelmingly afraid that what she thought of as a little tap would shatter Cream's skull, but _that_ was the same for everyone in her life. Sally, Sonic, Tails, Rotor, Antoine – they were core Freedom Fighters, but they were brittle as dry leaves against titanium. Not even Dulcy would get away with just a headache.

But no, it wasn't just fear of injury that made Bunnie feel the way she did. When she wasn't busy being depressed over having metal parts, or potentially lethal poison percolating from them through her body, or shoving _down_ that same depression with optimism, there was a rational part of her that was grateful she'd been able to hold Cream in her arms and know what it _felt_ like. The tiny, warm body, the wriggly prelude to sitting up and walking, the little mouth latching onto her thumb and sucking – each one part of a symphony of memories that she could draw on and taste and smell and _feel _in her mind.

It was a double-edged sword, of course. With the pleasure of memory also came the frustration of the present.

Bunnie could still feel – she would have been practically unable to move without falling over if she couldn't. However, feeling and _feeling_ were different.

She calculated walking by the resistance of the ground under her, microscopic sensors in the casing of her feet never offline, always feeding information into the bits of her that needed it. She could walk over hot coals without injury, but she still knew they were hot. She felt every twitch, strain and grind when her legs extended. She could tell the texture of whatever she picked up, right down to an infinitesimal level, something in her lower abdomen processing the signals from her hand-sensors and sending them to her brain as fast as thought.

Once upon a time, she and Rotor had attempting to figure out just how many internal organs were roboticised, but were forced to give up because his equipment and her personal magnetic field didn't gel. Finding out involved surgical procedures, and without knowing what was what in there, trying anything was about as accurate as crocheting with an elephant tusk.

There were things inside Bunnie that she didn't understand. There were things that gave her phantom sensations. A door trapping her hand made her grind her teeth in counterfeit pain. Muscles she no longer had told her they were tired during extensive exercise. She knew the difference between a cold breeze and a warm patch of sunshine without the aid of her flesh parts.

But it wasn't the _same_.

That was the kicker. She needed the phantom sensations to function, but they were surplus to her complete mental health. Not that she was a raging nutball or anything, but… the plain fact was they were a constant reminder of what she was missing. She had to _think_ about how she moved where she never had before. Nowadays it was second nature, but in the beginning…

_A tiny body flying through the door from outside, arms wrapping around her neck before she can even say "Howdy."_

"_I _**missed **_you, Bunnie!"_

"_Well… that's a right nice welcome, sugar. I missed you, too."_

_Lots of hugging, and a wrongness as well, but not one she wants to think about right now. Then eyes, far too big and brown and liquid, staring at her with unashamed adoration. And oh… oh, she's going to… no, no, don't cry! Don't _**cry**

"_Are you all better now?"_

"_I'm… I'm gettin' there, sugar."_

"_Oh. Can I still come home, even though you're just getting there?"_

_Smile. Nod. More hugging. More lovely wrongness. So careful she's barely touching – just the tips of individual hairs against her sensors and yes, that's right – sensors instead of nerves now, and –_

"_Sally says I'm not supposed to mention your funny arm and legs."_

_A flash of pain, but… less. She smiles weakly. "How did you like stayin' with your Aunt Sally, anyhow?"_

_Nose wrinkles – an expression so familiar it's like a physical ache. Missed that. Didn't realise how much. _

"_It was okay. Tails came over to play a lot, but Aunt Sally doesn't have a lot of toys in her hut. And she had to talk to people in the other room sometimes, which was kind of boring. I had to be real quiet."_

_Uh oh. Boring plus Cream equals – "Y'all didn't go pokin' around in Rotor's storeroom, did you now?"_

"_Um…"_

"_Did you?"_

"_Will you still love me if I say we did?"_

We. Always we. Cream and Sally, Cream and Sonic, Cream and Tails, Cream and the Tooth Fairy. Cream made creatures gravitate to her. She was a little fuzzy magnet, with the cuteness of a six year old and the understanding of… something. Someone much older.

Cream and Sally – listening, watching, learning, reminding her what it was all for.

Cream and Sonic – screaming on his shoulders, going pell-mell and laughing and shrieking and snorting dust from her nose when he stopped.

Cream and Antoine – standing to attention next to him, letting him tell her about the time when he was so brave because he…

Cream and Rotor – what's this for? What's that do? How's this work? Show me, tell me, explain to me.

Cream and Tails – two little orphans, playmates, friends. The youngest of the hope they nurtured for the future. Two little mischief-makers, who had to be pulled from their latest scrape by the scruffs of their necks.

But at the end, at the heart of it all, it always came back to the same thing.

Bunnie and Cream – the finder and the found.

Propping her chin up on her fist, Bunnie stared across the table and wondered where she'd be right now, had she not taken a small detour on a routine patrol and discovered a consignment of refugees being secretly shipped into Robotropolis.

If they'd had more notice, then the Freedom Fighters might have coordinated a rescue attempt – lain in wait for a coordinated ambush, or something. It wouldn't have been just Bunnie, radioing Sonic to get his butt over to the South quarter, then diving in herself to sabotage the vehicle before it entered the heavily guarded main citadel.

Six whole years since she got chewed out for that little stunt. Six whole years since Knothole's population swelled. Six whole years since a lady rabbit called Vanilla placed a squirming bundle in her rescuer's arms and breathed her last in the filth of Robotnik's capital.

"_Not to worry, folks. The cavalry's here."_

_There's a mad rush for the door. Bunnie isn't much with electronic locks, but she manages. She only just steps aside to let them through. _

"_Where do we go?" asks one._

"_Our homes," another says brokenly. "They burned them… destroyed everything…"_

"_Where are we?" is the prevailing question. "What is this place? Why are we here?"_

_Bunnie looks up. A blue smudge in the shadows tells her where Sonic is, as does the clank-clank-clank of SWATbot feet. Thank goodness they always abandon their posts when they see him. You'd have thought Robotnik would see the flaw in that programming by now, but he seems determined to give them an exploitable loophole._

"_Right, folks. I'm Bunnie, an' this here is Robotropolis - "_

"_Robotropolis!" _

"_What're we doing in this dump?"_

"_I wanna go home!"_

"_Are you one of Robotnik's spies?"_

_Fear. Anger. Distrust. She's heard it all before from refugees on their way to the roboticisor. Sometimes they apologise afterwards, when they realise what they've been saved from. Sometimes they don't. _

"_Why did you bring us here?" demands a thickset skunk, imposing despite the dirt on his stripes. He looks like he'd like nothing better than to knock her into next week._

_Bunnie isn't scared. She's faced down dragon-Robians and had her tail singed by exploding warehouses. She's hidden in sewers and nearly been washed away. She's been frightened by much worse. "I didn't. I'm rescuin' y'all from the guy who did." _

_She cuts her eyes at the shadows. Where's Sally? She should be here by now. She should be – _

"_Bunnie!"_

_Relief. "Sally-girl!"_

_Sally jogs up, panting only slightly. Her vest is torn and her right elbow is burned. She shoots Bunnie a look that says 'we'll talk about this later' and forgoes pleasantries. "How many are we talking?"_

"_I ain't counted yet. Only just broke 'em out."_

"_There's sixteen of us," says the skunk, eyes round. Ah. He recognises Sally. This batch must be from one of the duchies. "You're…"_

"_Princess Sally Acorn, yes." Sally says it like she's telling him the weather, moving quickly between the refugees and counting. "I tally only fifteen, Bunnie."_

"_Hang on." Bunnie pokes her head inside the door. Little sparks fizzle down on her head. The vehicle has been in better shape. "Anyone in here?"_

"_Please…" The voice is so weak she might not have heard it, were she not listening specially. _

_There's a collection of rags and something in the corner. It turns out to be a creature under a blanket – far more blanket than creature, Bunnie sees when she's close enough. She's marginally surprised to see another rabbit, taller than herself, and quite a bit older. Her ears flop backwards onto the collar of a very old-fashioned dress. The creatures outside were wearing similar outfits, but here it seems even more inappropriate. Her fur is damp, but it's a funny sort of dampness – nothing at all to do with the stuffiness of the vehicle. _

"_Please…" she says again. "Please, help me…"_

"_I gotcha," Bunnie says, stepping inside. "Can you stand?"_

"_Help me…" The lady rabbit coughs. It's a wet sound, and puts blood on the blanket._

"_Uh-oh." Bunnie curses under her breath. "Ma'am, we gotta get you out of here. You gotta see a doctor."_

"_Please," the lady rabbit insists, like she hasn't even heard Bunnie. "Please, you've got to… please…"_

_Bunnie goes closer. "Ma'am -"_

_Sally appears at the door. "Bunnie, we've got to move. Nicole says Robotnik's sending reinforcements, and Sonic can't take them all."_

"_I know, I just gotta - "_

"_Is there someone in there?"_

"_Yeah. One person. But she's hurt, Sally-girl. I think she's hurt real bad."_

_She can see the conflict on Sally's face, because it's early days and she hasn't learnt to hide it yet. It comes to a grinding, unpleasant conclusion. "Do your best to carry her. Here." She tosses a taser, still smoking where Nicole severed it from the dead SWATbot. _

_Bunnie catches it, fumbling a little. _

_Then Sally is gone. "Come on, people. You can get your questions answered later. For now, you either come with me, or you go straight into Robotnik's workforce."_

"_Why should we follow you, pipsqueak?"_

"_She's Princess Sally, you idiot! She's the heir to the throne of Acorn! Her father used to rule this joint."_

"'_Used to' being the operative phrase, brother…"_

_The voices fade. Bunnie turns her attention back to the lady rabbit. She can feel the sweat running through her fur, and she knows _**that's**_ got nothing to do with stuffiness, either. "Ma'am," she says, her upbringing and manners refusing to let go even here._

_The blanket rustles. Bunnie hears mewling and sees the dirty wrappings in the other rabbit's arms. _

"_Oh… hell…"_

_If only Sally had seen that, she might not have been so quick to leave. _

_But she didn't. And Bunnie is a big girl, now. It's why she's allowed on missions – because she's trained hard, and she's old enough, and experienced enough to take care of herself._

_In another world she might have been flipping through teen magazines and agonising over part-time work for petty cash._

"_Please… please…" the lady rabbit repeats, over and over. "Please… help me…" She coughs again. Some of the blood gets on the kit's ear. _

_Bunnie remembers the magazines her older sisters used to read. She remembers their bright covers and articles full of words she didn't understand. She remembers how her sisters would giggle at her behind closed doors: little Baby Bunnie, youngest sibling who didn't know anything and had to hold their hands to cross the street. _

"_I…"_

"_She gave birth en route."_

_Bunnie whirls. The skunk is at her shoulder. His expression can't even be described as grim. _

"_Her name's Vanilla. Baby doesn't have one yet."_

"_Her name is Cream," says the lady rabbit, stroking the kit's head and smearing the blood. "My little Cream…"_

_The skunk shrugs. "So I stand corrected. Both sugary enough to choke on. We gonna get to it, or what?"_

_Bunnie doesn't stop to ask questions about why he's stayed or why he's helping her. Every so often you get creatures who are genuinely altruistic. Not often, but sometimes… sometimes it does happen. She just has to trust to luck that this is one of those times, because the sweat is creeping down her back and there's an iron band around her skull that's making it hard to think. _

"_Can you carry her?"_

"_Probably." He moves forward._

_The lady rabbit – Vanilla – lunges without warning. She catches Bunnie by the elbow, making her stumble. Before Bunnie can speak, the kit is being pushed into her arms. She has to hold it or drop it._

"_Hey - "_

"_Please," says Vanilla, more forcefully than before. Her eyes are clear and perhaps a little overbright. "You must take care of her. You… you must keep her… she must be safe."_

"_I, uh… we're takin' y'all to safety, ma'am. Both of y'all. We got a base, all covert an' safe, where Buttnick can't find us - "_

_But Vanilla just shakes her head and slumps forward onto her nose. The skunk pulls her upright, but the clearness of her eyes has given way to cloudiness, and her stare is fixed. It was so fast, it takes a moment to register that she's died._

_Bunnie looks away. _

_The kit wriggles and mewls. _

_Her eyebrows pull together. She uses her elbow to pat the taser in her waistband. "C'mon."_

"_Should I bring the body?"_

"_Yeah. Yeah, bring it – her along."_

_Sonic covers them as they leave, zinging this way and that, and dropping one-liners to robots that can't hear and don't care. _

_They're in No Beast's Land before Bunnie talks again. She can't look at the skunk, because he's carrying the larger Vanilla on his back, as if giving her a piggyback. There was blood in her mouth, and it's dribbled over his shoulder and all down his front._

"_What's your name, sugar?"_

_He's puffing slightly, but answers, "Geoffrey. Geoffrey St. John."_

They laid Vanilla to rest in the same place as they laid everyone who died in Knothole. It had gone nameless for a long time, simply because nobody wanted to acknowledge it was there. Naming it reminded them of who lay in it – Sally especially had difficulty saying she was going to visit her mother's marker every first day of Spring. Queen Alicia's actual grave was somewhere under tonnes of steel and concrete, but the marker was as good a replica of her tombstone as they could make.

When she was old enough, Cream called that place the Grave Garden.

"_I won't have it." Rosie stalks around the inside of Bunnie's hut like someone shot her in her tail and she can't sit down. "This won't do. No, no, no, it simply won't do."_

"_I don't see what's so difficult to grasp."_

_She rounds on Bunnie. For a moment, Bunnie thinks Sally may have to hold her back. The last time she saw Rosie lose her temper, the nanny had seemed a whole lot bigger and younger. Her hair hadn't been grey, then, either. So she sets her shoulders and stares Rosie down. Bunnie isn't a little kit anymore._

"_You're not equipped or experienced to take after a little one - "_

"_So I'll learn. You think all new mothers know what they're doin' at first?"_

"_You're barely a kit yourself! Not to mention the state of this place, and the milk she'll need, and the caring, and the… oh my stars and garters, it doesn't bear thinking about."_

_Bunnie scowls. "I'll. Manage."_

_Sally is leaning against the wall. Nicole hangs slack in her hand. "I think I might have to go with Rosie on this one, Bunnie - "_

"_Thank you, Princess." _

_Bunnie holds Cream closer. The blankets are from her bed, and are a little old, but they've been washed and smell like sunrise. Cream is asleep, so they're all shouting in whispers. "I ain't givin' her up."_

"_Bunnie," Sally says gently, "she's not yours to lay claim to."_

"_She's more mine than Rosie's. Vanilla gave her to me."_

"_Because nobody else was with her when she was passing on."_

"_Geoffrey was there. Vanilla still gave her to me."_

"_Be that as it may, you can't seriously say you can look after her as well as Rosie can. Besides which, you've got other responsibilities to think about."_

_Bunnie can feel the tears pricking the backs of her eyes. She blinks them away. They're childish and won't help her argument. "Sally, please. I need to do this."_

_The frown on Sally's face is more confused than anything else. "Need to?"_

"_Aha. You need to do it. You're thinking of what's best for you, not what's best for the kit." There's an accusing note in Rosie's voice. And Bunnie, in all honesty, can't deny it._

_She takes a deep breath. It comes out in a whoosh, like someone just punched her mid-sentence. "If I say I'd give up bein' a Freedom Fighter to care for her… then would you let me keep her?"_

_The silence is a stunned one._

"_Bunnie - "_

_Bunnie cuts them off. "I never saw my Ma again, Sally-girl. Me an' Pa… he came up to work at court an' I came up visitin' for a few months. I felt so special, bein' chosen out of all my sisters. The coup happened while we were here, an' then… I never got to see her again. I never got to see none of 'em again. Vanilla… I didn't know her for more than ten minutes, but she reminded me so much of my Ma… I need to do this. You gotta understand, Sally-girl."_

"_Miss Sally, I really must object." Rosie rams fists against her hips, disregarding Sally's title completely. Titles mean a lot less when you've changed the owner's diapers._

_Sally taps her chin with one finger. "Rosie already looks after Tails."_

"_Tails is nearly four, already. He ain't no kit. By all accounts he wants to move into Sugar-hog's hut if y'all let him. He idolises that ball of blue fur."_

_Rosie's expression darkens. Her eyes slide sideways, presumably to wherever Tails is beyond the hut's walls. "Oh he does, does he?" _

"_Are you really willing to give up being a Freedom Fighter to do this, Bunnie?"_

_Rosie snaps back to the present. "Miss Sally!"_

_Bunnie nods. "If'n that's what it takes. What she needs."_

"_You worked so hard to be one… We'd miss you on missions."_

"_That Geoffrey fellah seemed mighty keen to join up. He could take my place."_

"_He's enthusiastic, true," Sally says, in a way that makes Bunnie think he isn't only enthusiastic about the work. She wonders what Sonic thinks about that – or whether he even knows. "But he's not trained. So – how would you feel about training him? And the other rescuees who want to be Freedom Fighters."_

"_What – you mean, like, teachin'?"_

"_If you can't be in the field, I at least expect you to pull your weight back here in Knothole. Everybody has a job to do, Bunnie. Up until now yours has been active service."_

"_You … want me to train 'em in martial arts an' stuff."_

"_Everything you know, they have to know." Sally shrugs. "I was thinking of asking Cat to do it, but he's getting a bit long in the tooth for demonstrations. And while you're teaching, Rosie can babysit Cream."_

_Bunnie opens her mouth to protest… and then closes it again. She makes several key connections, glances down at Cream, and purses her lips. "That's the best offer I'm gonna get, ain't it?"_

"_Rosie is experienced in this sort of thing. Do you even know where the powdered milk's kept?"_

_She didn't._

"_Rosie can teach you want you need to know about caring for Cream. You'll have the best tuition you can get for that, and in turn, you pass on the best tuition you can to new Freedom Fighters." Sally smiles. It's strained, but rueful and real. "Unless, of course, you'd like to reconsider about being a stay-at-home mother."_

"_I ain't a mother. I ain't her mother." Bunnie pauses. When she continues, she does so sotto voice. "But I'll care for her, best as I can. Ain't no kit should grown up without someone there for 'em." She sighs and nods. "Y'all drive a hard bargain, Sally-girl."_

_Rosie glares at them both, and then throws up her hands. "And I thought you two were trouble when you were kits?"_

"_Is that a no, Rosie?" _

"_That's a never you mind, Miss Sally Alicia Acorn." She grunts like the grumpy old lady she isn't. Not quite yet. "In all my years, I have never heard anything so… Oh, what the bilberries. I'm not going to change your mind, am I?" she asks Bunnie, who shakes her head. "Well then, if you're determined to disregard my advice, then I can at least make sure you don't botch the task. I may not be as young as I was when you two – and that confounded hedgehog – were small, but it's possible you'll learn something, Bunnie dear."_

_Back to 'dear'. Bunnie and Sally exchange a look. _

_Sally's smile stays, but gains layers of eloquence. She knows what it's like to lose family to Robotnik. She knows each beast is different in how they cope. _

_Bunnie sees it and replies in kind in a heartbeat._

_Sally's going to make a mighty fine leader of this here operation._

"Whatcha doin', sugar?"

Cream didn't stop kneading the heap of mush. Her tongue poked out the side of her mouth, as if the amount of concentration needed for her task required more room in her head. "Working."

"Workin' at what?"

"Working hard."

"You makin' sumthin'?"

"Mmhmm."

"Bread?" It was the only thing Bunnie could thing of that might start out that colour.

"No, silly."

"Oh. What is it, then?"

"You can't tell?" Cream finally looked up, expression a little hurt. "I'm making Sonic. Look, here are all his little spikes, and his shoes, and his gloves. And these holes are his eyes."

It looked like it had been some sort of flightless bird before it wandered in front of a laser cannon.

"It's modelling clay. Tails gave it to me. He says he's too big to use it now he's a proper Freedom Fighter."

Bunnie raised an eyebrow. "Tails is a proper Freedom Fighter?"

"Uh-huh."

"He said that?"

"Well, he said Sally's almost totally said he is one, so he's as good as."

"Right. Well, that there sculpture is pretty as a li'l red wagon, darlin'."

Cream paused and looked at a lump of clay in her hand. As she spoke, she pressed flower patterns into it with her thumb. "One day, when I'm grown up like Tails, will I be a Freedom Fighter, too?"

Bunnie heard the words, but they didn't register for a moment. She was too busy thinking in incoherent screams and curses. When those had abated, she said in a calm voice, "When you're old enough, there may not be no Freedom Fighters to join."

"Why not?" Cream sounded incensed, as thought the resistance was there solely to see to her whims and fancies.

"Well, Robotnik might not be around no more. If there's no Robotnik, then there's no need for Freedom Fighters. 'Cause we'd all be free already, see?"

Cream pouted. "But I want to be a Freedom Fighter like Tails."

"You two could form your own Freedom Fighters. Freedom from the tyranny of parents an' guardians."

Cream just looked at her. "You can be so weird sometimes."

Bunnie saluted and winked. "Mission accomplished."

"So, if I can't be a Freedom Fighter when I'm grown up, can I be one now instead? Will you train me like you train the others?"

One last piercing wail cut through Bunnie's thoughts. Her expression never flickered for a second. "Just 'cause a body can, don't mean it's gotta."

That was what Sally had said to her, when Geoffrey was too injured to go on an important mission and everyone who could have replaced him already had his or her own task. Bunnie had stepped up, feeling more than a little guilty after years of not going into the field. She ignored Sally, took Geoffrey's slot, and had a run-in with a roboticisor for her troubles.

"What?" Cream was nonplussed. She scrunched the clay into a ball and rolled it around between her palms. "Is that a no?"

Bunnie shook herself. "That's a clear this stuff away so's I can serve dinner."

"But you're not even cooking anything!"

"By the time you're done clearin' up, I could've fixed a three course dinner, set the table, an' serenaded the centrepiece. Now get to clearin'. There's only a couple hours of daylight left."

Cream sighed deeply and squashed the model of Sonic back into its original shapeless shape. "Is Antoine coming over for dinner?"

"Not tonight, punkin'."

"Is Sonic?"

"Nu-uh."

"Phooey."

Bunnie got up and went to the kitchen, marvelling at the sheer domesticity of the scene. She ignored the fact that there was a meeting at Sally's hut tonight, and she was going over to Rotor's tomorrow for some more tests. Rosie would be over first thing after breakfast. She was taking Cream and Tails on a picnic and nature ramble.

It was possible they'd learn something.

* * *

And yea, we have some more **Reviewer Replies **to contend with. All three of them.

What I meant, **CarriePika, **is that in my initial poking around the fandom, anyone who talked about you had only praise and high regard for you. Hence, I termed you as an 'Authority' for the Sonic fandom because that's what my brain had pigeonholed you as. Sorry if this caused any confusion. It was a compliment, really. As for the last two chapters; I get inspired by artwork a lot. I sketch - badly - but true purdy artwork is beyond my grasp. Therefore I make noises like "Murr" whenever I see something I really like, and sometimes it inspires ficcage - the highest compliment I can think to give it. As the above segment shows ;) . Bunnie is neglected, isn't she? Even by the Archie writers. Dan Drazen's written some nice Bunnie fiction, but apart from thatI can't really think of any where she's had a large(ish) role. Mayhap you know of some?

Hey, **UKHoneyB**. Ahh! Another Sonic Brit! I feel the need to huggle you now, just for that, but I'll refrain. Thanks for the kind words. Hopefully this chapter lived up to expectations. If not, well ... bugger.

This is your first Sonic fic, **Trolli**? I feel kind of squishy inside, now. Glad you liked the line in Ch2. I think I was having _Blackadder_ flashbacks when I wrote that, but it seemed to work anyway. So, cheers for the kind words. Much appreciated.


	5. I Should've Just Stayed Home

**A/N**: Because I'm a complete ditz, I forgot to mention this before: the previous instalment was based on a piece of artwork by the absolutely amazing fanartist Bleedman, and was posted with his full consent. The fanart itself can be found at h t t p : w w w (dot) deviantart (dot) com/deviation/6905118/

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5. _I Should've Just Stayed Home_

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It was entering the thirty-seventh hour and Bunnie still hadn't slept. She was keeping going through a combination of adrenaline, amphetamines and sheer, bloody-mindedness.

The number of blackouts was improving. The last one lasted long enough for her to get out of her chair, fumble her way to the door and open it on a cloud of strange, astringent chemicals.

"Vector, you'd better have good news for me."

The lights hummed back to life. Vector's board rolled out from under the generator. "That good enough for ya?"

"It'll do." She leaned on the doorframe. "Two things: one, how long until we're fully operational again? Two: what the hoo-ha is that _smell_?"

"Answer to one: a couple of hours, maybe. With some luck, spit and elbow grease. Answer to two: the hell should I know? You may not have noticed, doll-face, but I've had my head under this bunch of wires for the better part of, ooh, _forever_."

Bunnie sighed and scrubbed her face with her palms. "No need to snark."

"There's plenty need for me to 'snark'."

Vector was a fairly relaxed soul, but even he had his limits. His red-rimmed eyes said he'd had about as much sleep as her. That worried Bunnie. She was allowed to push herself further because she was in charge. It was expected for her to fall asleep across her maps, or flop onto her bunk with her Kevlar still on. But after that last hit… rest was a luxury few could afford, and tempers were beginning to fray.

"Maybe Espio ate something that didn't agree with him. I dunno. You and he are the only people I've laid eyeball on all day."

"Have you had anythin' to eat?" Bunnie asked.

Vector gestured at a discarded nutrition pack. It was empty, and had been so long enough for the edges to crust.

"I'll fetch you sumthin'."

He nodded, a few creases above his eyes smoothing out. "Hey – Bunster?"

"Yeah?"

"Just…" He paused and visibly changed his mind. "Just none of that banana-beef garbage, y'dig? I'd rather scarf motor oil."

She nodded and left.

Her eyes ached to close, as she took the stairs in case the power gave out again. The elevator had an emergency lockdown that meant it wouldn't go plummeting to the bottom of the shaft, but all the same, she didn't like her chances. There was no sense in tempting fate if it was so intent in vomiting into her kettle anyway.

If she denied herself sleep, then she couldn't begrudge herself the need for it. It _had _been a stressful thirty-seven hours, and she _had_ spent most of it in a state of semi-permanent anxiety. It seemed that one disaster had followed another, had followed another, had followed _another_. These blackouts were just the icing on a very rotten cake.

She and Mighty had taken it in turns to man the remote canons, until putting off Robotnik's entourage demanded they both stay at their posts. In all, they'd lost one large canon and several dozen demi-mines – small explosives made from engine fuel and old saucepans – none of which could be replaced until Vector got the generators working again. It hadn't been bad enough that the first wave of SWATbots took out their main power, the second wave had to go and damage their auxiliary supply, too…

Bunnie paused at the head of the staircase. It was just wide enough for two creatures to pass each other if they breathed in, and while it had been carved right out of the rock, the sides were worn smooth by a combination of narrowness and use. She touched one wall and resisted the urge to just sit on the top step. She didn't want to cry, or rest, or even go to sleep there – she just wanted to sit and look at the simple necessity her ancestors had made with their bare hands.

But there was no time. There was never any time.

As she approached the entrance to the cafeteria, however, a small door opened on her left and a figure emerged. Bettina wore droopy denim pants under her protective vest, tied up with a belt on its last notch, and a loose red kerchief around her neck. It occurred to Bunnie that they both looked like they were wearing someone else's clothes. Bettina's hair was shorter than it used to be, swept back off her face into a bristly topknot. Though, as always, her expression revealed nothing of her inner emotions, there was a melancholy in her eyes that gave Bunnie pause.

Bettina sniffed the air and glanced up sharply. "Bunnie," she said, as if it were hello.

"Bettina."

They shifted uncomfortably for a moment. Bettina had never really surrendered her resentment at Bunnie taking command, though she was rational enough to see her youngest sister had both the shrewd mind and imagination to be an effective leader. Bettina was not the oldest, but a lifetime of 'eldest first' still left its marks in her. Bunnie's style of leadership was humble. She was not afraid to admit when she was wrong, or when a situation needed more than her limited expertise. She often called on others for advice in her role, but Bettina… was called on less than anyone else.

Finally, Bunnie broke the silence. "I was just gettin' some food for Vector."

"He got the generators at full capacity yet?"

She shook her head. "But he's gettin' there. I don't know what we'd do without him."

Bettina sniffed, but not to scent the air.

"Y'all hungry?"

"Not really. Bryony cooked up some grits if you want 'em, though."

Bunnie tried to remember Vector's reaction the first time they served grits to the survivors of the 'plane crash. She couldn't recall beyond Mighty's surprise that 'grits' meant boiled hominy in gravy, not baked pieces of rock.

They hadn't had grits in a while. Mealtimes had devolved from everyone but the lookout at the table, to everyone grabbing nutrition packets at different times. The packets had been salvaged from the 'plane wreck, along with bits of workable equipment. So few creatures had survived the crash there were more than enough to sustain them for a few months yet.

Before Robotnik's talons reached this far south, the Rabbot clan had lived and farmed underground through a series of vents and specially constructed Greenery Bays. Their ancestors survived a civil war by taking everything they needed and moderating it to work below the earth, and tradition dictated everyone learned how to tend the machines in case they were driven underground again. Which they had been. They were quite self-sufficient – enough to form a stronghold against the forces that had taken their friends and nearest aboveground neighbours.

The forces that had captured their parents months before, when Mr. And Mrs. Rabbot went to the Court of King Acorn in Mobotropolis.

The Rabbot children had held out in the hopes their parents would return. Finally, when an aircraft of escapers from the area surrounding Mobotropolis was shot down near their home, the stories of what had happened there convinced them they were on their own – at least for now. Even if creatures _had_ avoided the roboticisor, there was no way to get away from Mobotropolis without crossing the desert. Vehicles showed up on Robotnik's radar like a single cloud in a clear sky, and he was dogged in his pursuit of them. The other direction held only ocean. Without fins or a boat with sonar-jammers, anyone trying to cross _that_ was a sitting duck. It was a miracle the stolen aircraft carrying Vector and his crew had made it this far before their pursuers brought them down.

Bunnie had never seen a Robian. She didn't know what a roboticised creature would look like, and she had trouble picturing how the Mobotroplis she'd seen in pictures could possibly be the same place Vector and his crew described. She'd so wanted to go with her father when he was called to court for business – something to do with the 'old wars' and medals he didn't like to talk about. But he'd chosen to take his wife instead, reasoning that not destroying their home – or each other – while their parents were away would be a good test of responsibility for their girls.

Mr. And Mrs. Rabbot never came home.

A lot of parents never came home.

And now…

Now Robotnik was trying to absorb this whole duchy into his empire. And his troops were as ruthless as they were tireless. Vector and his crew called them 'SWATbots'. Bunnie called them a pain in her tail.

This rural backwater had been ignored for a long time – several years, in fact. It simply wasn't big enough, or technologically advanced enough (at least aboveground) to merit much interest. Tracking the fugitives' aircraft was probably what had led Robotnik's more aggressive forces there, and rescuing the survivors from the wreck had led the Rabbots into an indefatigable conflict that had lasted the better part of two years.

Charmy and Mello, younger even than Bunnie, had dubbed their ragbag group the Chaotix. It may have been due to Charmy's speech impediment, or the fact that nobody had ever taught Mello to spell properly, but it seemed fitting, since everything was going to hell in a hand basket.

"I might just get some of those grits for m'self, an' all," Bunnie said quietly.

Bettina shrugged. It was a practised gesture.

"How's Belinda?"

"Bizarrely enough, her arm's still broke."

"Aw, leave it out, Bet."

Bettina narrowed her eyes. "Y'all ain't slept." It was said accusingly.

Bunnie didn't answer.

"Y'all should take better care of yourself, y'know. Lotta folk depend on you to be tip-top. Ain't no sense in runnin' yo'self into the ground an' makin' yo'self sick."

Again, she didn't answer. She'd expect that kind of talk from Bryony, eldest and most motherly of the Rabbot sisters; or maybe even from Branna, who had taken their mother's unfinished knitting and made it her task to put every scrap of wool she could find into it. Charmy was always chasing everyone up about not getting enough rest; but Bettina was prickly as a cactus and preferred to keep folk at arm's length. To hear her voice concern or advice for Bunnie's well-being was as extraordinary as having the moon talk to her.

"I'll keep that in mind," was all she could think to reply.

Bettina snorted and pushed through the curtain of beads strung across the dining hall.

The dining hall had been hollowed out when more branches of the Rabbot family lived there. Back then, just after the civil war, anything up to a hundred bodies had to fit in at mealtimes – and that wasn't including any guests they may have also accommodated. Nowadays the place seated fifteen on a good day – the ten Rabbot sisters and their six more-than-visitors, minus whoever was on lookout duty.

Bunnie adjusted her vest and went in.

Bryony's grits were like heaven after days of nutrition packets. Bunnie wasn't selfish enough to eat her portion before taking Vector his, but her sister promised to keep some back for when Bunnie could grab a moment to herself. There were also slices of boiled turnip and collards, which Bryony heaped into a large clay bowl and sprinkled with rosemary. She clamped a lid on top so Bunnie wouldn't spill any while walking, and filled a container with fresh water from a bucket. They got their water from an underground reservoir; so deep below the surface it was cold as melted ice. It still had to be brought up in buckets, however – a throwback to the days when their ancestors first found it.

Bunnie took the same route back to Vector as she had away from him.

Just as she was nearing the generator chamber, a loud explosion split the air. Thick plumes of black smoke crept along the passage.

She ran the rest of the way.

"Vector!"

"Damn, blasted, stupid, retarded, crappy … _machine_!" Vector emerged from the smoke, snout blackened and eyes watering. He coughed, wisps seeping from his nostrils. He looked like a storybook dragon – the kind who breathed fire and ate fair damsels for elevenses.

Bunnie breathed a sigh of relief. True, he was in an even fouler mood than before, and the smoke probably wasn't a good sign, but he was alive and healthy enough to stand and curse and kick one of the conduits on the floor.

Her brows pulled together. "Hey, less of that. We need those."

"We need this thing like I need a hole in the head," Vector snapped, kicking it again. Immediately, his face scrunched in pain and he grabbed his foot. "Ow!"

"Here," Bunnie said, yanking a cord that would open a flue into the complex array of vents that kept the air in the burrows from getting stale and unbreathable. Then she pulled him out into the corridor and across into the cannon control room.

The place was makeshift as they come, having been fashioned from the last very last salvage of the 'plane – plus some judiciously pilfered things from the abandoned homes of old neighbours. A curtain of ratty blanket kept most of the smoke out. Bunnie pushed Vector into one of two chairs and set the bowl of food in his lap.

He picked it back up to keep the clay from burning him, glanced under the lid, then back up at her. "Bryony?"

"Y'all think I got time to be fixin' good, homemade grits since I saw you last?"

"Point." He took the spork she'd brought and tucked in without further comment.

Instead of clearing off to get her own meal, Bunnie stayed and watched him eat. She slid into the other chair, resting her arms on the back, and her chin on her arms. Moments passed. Her head tipped sideways, and her cheek fur fluffed against her wrist.

After a while, Vector looked up at her. "Something bogus, Bunster?"

"Apart from the obvious?"

"Touché." He ate another few mouthfuls. Then he sighed and jammed the spork upright in the bowl. It stayed there. "Okay. Let's have it."

"Huh?"

"I feel like someone scooped out my stomach and rubbed what's left with asbestos, but I can't enjoy this grub with ya moping like that. So out with it: what's eating ya?"

Bunnie stared at her fingertips. She stared at the floor. She stared at the ceiling. Finally, she stared at Vector. "Ever get the feelin' you'd like to just bury your head in the sand? An' suffocate?"

"This about the raids?"

"No. Yeah. I don't know. It's kinda about the raids. But… it's kinda not, too."

"Real precise, Bunster."

Bunnie ran a hand through her hair and sat up. She opened her mouth, closed it, raised her hand as if to speak, then let it drop again. A frustrated noise sounded in the back of her throat. "I'm s'posed to be leader, right?"

"Right."

"An' a leader is all wise an' insightful an' junk, right?"

"I guess. Depends what kind of leader ya gotta be."

"But that's just it. I don't _know_."

Vector raised an eyebrow. "Not following that boulevard of thought, dudeling."

"I just… ngh! What 'zactly are we doin' here, Vec? What's stayin' holed up like this actually _achievin_'?"

"We're staying alive." Vector looked thoughtfully at his thumbs. "Last I checked, that seemed pretty high priority."

"It was. It _is_. But lately … I just got the feelin' we should be doin' more n' just tryin' to wait out this thing with Robotnik. I mean, what if'n he _don't_ go away? What if'n he's, like, a permanent fixture? What then? We just gonna wait here 'til we up an' die of old age or boredom?"

"There are worse ways to go," was the quiet reply.

"True enough. But this ain't no way to live." She gestured at the room and meant something far bigger. Her wrist hung limp, her fingers flaccid. "Not really."

"Suits me okay." Vector shrugged. "Sure, it could use a few more bogs. Some swampweed. Maybe a river to swim in. But hey, I'm happy to wet my scales any way I can."

Bunnie looked at the three-day-old crust around his joints. "Sure y'are."

"Don't go knocking the Vec-man, doll-face."

"Wouldn't dream of it." She got up and stretched. A few vertebrae cracked noisily back into place.

Vector winced. "Yee-owch."

"Oh, please. Like you don't make me feel sick when you scrub off half your tail?"

"Dead scales, Bunster. S'called exfoliation. Exfoliate and rehydrate – that's what us crocs do to look so damn _fine_." He preened hair that wasn't there.

"No wonder you an' Belle get on so well. Y'all even speak the same weird lingo."

Vector grinned, but it was short-lived. He pulled out his spork and tapped it against the side of his bowl. "But seriously, Bunster, yer doing a great job. We're all still alive and kickin', ain't we?"

"Yeah. Sure. I'm a terrific leader. That's why Belinda's got herself a broke arm an' Valdez only got half a horn."

"Hate to break it, sweet-cheeks, but we're in a war. Not everyone gets away scot-free – y'dig?"

She snorted. "Some war. What're we, the ones who survive to write the history books an' change the stories about how much we got involved?"

That made Vector narrow his eyes. "Ya thinking about leaving?"

"No." She shook her head. Then she nodded. Then she made a frustrated noise and scoured the bases of her ears with her fingertips. "Yes? I don't know! I just … I know I shouldn't say it, but don't think I know what I'm doin' anymore, Vec. It's like … like a stalemate in my head. I'm all in a box canyon. I can't see any way out of our problems, so I was kinda hopin' if I just kept doin' what I was doin' they'd go away. But these raids… the black-outs - "

"Hey, I can fix those. No prob for the Vec-man."

"Oh yeah? An' what about next time? An' the next? An' the next? What happens if an' when y'all _can't_ fix it? We just supposed to sit around an' wait for the air to run out? Climb out an' face them SWATbots in some blaze of glory that'll get us killed quicker 'n squid on a skillet? They _hurt _us, Vector. It proves they can do it, an' I'd bet my own cute l'il fluffy tail that now they know it, they'll keep chippin' away at the same spot 'til we break."

"So we put up better defences. Reinforce the place they got us this time so it's stronger than the rest of the joint."

"I was speakin' figuratively, Vec."

Vector jabbed a finger at her, but no words came out of his mouth. He frowned. "Ya really know how to take the wind outta a guy's sails, doll-face."

Bunnie gave him an entirely humourless smirk. "Take your victories where y'can, right? Let's face it. Unless we figure out sumthin' more practical, it's gonna take a blind miracle to fix _this … _well, this fix."

His reply was precluded by the arrival of two bodies in the chamber. They didn't so much as ruffle the blanket-curtain, but emerged from the shadows like paint leaking from brightly coloured tubes. One appeared headfirst, unfinished neck floating a good few feet above the floor. The other chose for his tail and feet to step forward without the rest of him.

Vector nearly dropped his bowl in surprise. "Crap on a raft, guys! Do ya _gotta_ do that every time?"

Considering she hadn't known them as long as Vector had, Bunnie was a lot calmer at the pair's arrival. A part of her wondered just how much of the conversation they'd heard. Another part didn't care. "Espio. Valdez. Ain't one of y'all s'posed to be on radio duty?"

Radio duty was something of a joke in the burrows. The equipment they'd salvaged from the plane wreck was barely workable, and the gear already in place was old and barely used. If you needed something this far south, a neighbour was just a short walk away. Mr. Rabbot was also a firm believer in the power of written letters, so he'd let the radio apparatus go to seed. Vector had cobbled what he could by welding old and not-quite-broken things together, but the quality was poor, and the range limited without a strong transmitter on the other end. Mostly, radio watch was a habit more than a necessity – or a way to keep the bee-boys occupied and make them feel valuable.

The expressions of the two chameleons were a combination of breathless excitement, apprehension, and the same matter-of-factness with which their kind faced every day of their lives.

"We have contact," Espio said simply.

"What?" At first, Bunnie barely registered the words. "Contact?" she repeated. "As in, someone out there? Can hear us? On the radio?"

"Yes."

Her eyes widened, the implications of that ratcheting around in her brain. They came to a pinging stop, like a fruit machine behind her eyes. "Then why the hoo-ha are y'all in _here_? Get back to that there radio, pronto!" She was already starting for the exit as she spoke.

"Charmy's manning the post," Valdez informed her as they tore through the tunnels. "It's because of him we got anything at all. He and Mello were zipping around, acting the fool like they always do, when he crashed into the equipment. Espio was all ready to chew him out when he heard the voice coming through."

"Little buzzball did _something_ to the frequency. We told him not to move in case his antennae were affecting the radio antennae."

"His…?" Bunnie pushed aside the curtain of blue and yellow beads and looked into the radio room. "Oh."

Charmy was sprawled in a position that couldn't possibly have been comfortable. He was still flight-size, loops of different coloured wires twined in and out of his curiously contorted limbs. Metal that had obviously been part of the transmitter was wrapped around both of his feelers, and there was no way for him to so much as twitch his wings without shredding them.

"Help?" he said in a small voice.

"In a minute, dawg," said Vector, hunkering down in front of the viewscreen. It was tilted to one side, full of grainy black and white static, but there was the merest hint of an outline amongst all the haze. "Hey, dudes – where's the mike?"

"Here." Mello had been almost totally invisible behind the mess, despite being full-size. It was impossible to tell his expression behind his goggles, but he handed over a battered old microphone like it was a newborn. "Did we do good?"

"That remains to be seen," Espio replied.

Vector examined the mike for a second, then pulled off the head and poked at the exposed wires. "Think I can…" he muttered, taking off his headphones and deck. They were his most treasured possessions, and all jaws in the room dropped when he yanked off the back of the deck and pulled out a fistful of components with neither grace nor carefulness.

"Vector - " Bunnie started.

"Hang on." He attached bits to bobs and 'a' to 'b' faster than any of them could register. Something bleeped. Something else blooped. After a moment he twisted the mutated mike's head back on and sighed. "Best I can do. Here." He passed it to Bunnie.

She just looked at it.

"Babycakes, ya gotta talk into it."

"Oh. Uh. Right." She brought it close to her mouth. "Hello?"

A screechy feedback loop made everyone grind his or her teeth. Vector grabbed, unscrewed a node on the side, and gave it back.

"Hello?" Bunnie tried again.

The static was intense, but not so much that it completely masked the answering, "Hello?"

A sigh of relief went up. Bunnie realised her eyes were closed.

"Hello? Is anyone out there? Do you read me?" she said loudly. She didn't know whom they'd managed to make contact with. For all she knew, it was some of Robotnik's forces, but… it was totally irrational, but the breathy alto on the other end didn't sound like it belonged in a despot's army. Of course, Bunnie wasn't exactly experienced in the ways of warlords, but the voice sounded… too kind. Kind and … and _delighted, _like little kit who'd got exactly what it wanted for its birthday, only with bells on. "Hello? Do you read me?"

"We read you." More static. It came in waves. The image on the viewscreen fluttered, like the person hiding in there was moving around. "Are … still there?"

"We're here. Who is this?"

"… eedom Fighters of …"

It was only half heard, but there were enough syllables to make Bunnie's eyes nearly bulge out of her head.

"Freedom Fighters?" Those were the creatures Vector and his crew had talked about – the tiny groups scattered around Mobius who resisted Robotnik's intrusion, sometimes with active force.

"…es. Who is…"

Vector, tinkering behind the scenes, unscrambled the viewscreen enough for a single image of a young female with hair piled on top of her hair. Her species was difficult to tell, her age indeterminate, but she peered out at them with such intensity that it made Bunnie want to take a step backwards.

She took a breath. She looked around at the gathered faces. If this was a trap – if Robotnik was trying to fool them … she wasn't just playing with her own life. She was risking so much more. For them _all_. Had there been time, she would have gathered everyone together and taken a vote on it. But there _was _no time. The signal was weak, and there was no telling how long it would hold out.

Espio raised one eyebrow and nodded. Valdez just tipped his beret to one side, while Charmy and Mello seemed frozen in place.

Vector spread his hands wide. Bits of old scales flaked off his wrists. "Y'asked for a miracle, Bunster."

Bunnie's jaw set. She licked her lower lip. It was dry and cracked. She didn't feel at all like a leader, but she drew herself up and acted like she was one anyway. Part of her wondered if all in-charge types got like that sometimes. It was an equal parts frightening and comforting idea.

"This is Bunnie Rabbot of the Chaotix. We read y'all, Freedom Fighters. We read y'all loud an' clear."

* * *

FINIS.

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****

**The Rabbot Sisters**

(In descending order by age, with name meanings included)

Bryony – 'A twining vine'

Belle – 'Beautiful woman'

Bettina – 'Bright and shining'

Belinda – 'Wise and immortal beauty'

Branna – 'Strength with virtue'

Babs – 'From the gateway'

Billie – 'The protectoress'

Beryl – 'Precious jewel'

Beatrice – 'She who brings joy'

Bunnie – 'Herald of victory'

* * *

And for the last time, here are some **Review Replies!**

Hey there, **Anthony Bault**. You write anti-canon, too? Chapter 3 Bunnie is a little tetched in the head – a result of the severe trauma of roboticisation. This also made her almost bipolar and sometimes-violent as a result. That clearer?

You must be psychic, **UKHoneyB**. Or I left that thought where you could find it. I mislaid it when I posted that last chapter, y'see, but I've rectified it (hopefully) with the A/N of this one. I tried to work in the sister angle, but it just wasn't working logistically. They actually do reshow it if you live in the UK (though, sadly, not in the USA, Canada or Australia). It's a children's channel called 'POP', around 5pm every day. They also show reruns of The Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog. SatAM (the show this fic is based on) is called simply 'Sonic the Hedgehog'.

I hear you, **Orin**. I came at the comics having heard people malign Geoffrey, but I really didn't think he was that bad. _Sonic X_ Cream annoyed me, but I think that was a combination of her overbearing sweetness and her voice actor. You could get cavities from that lil' rabbit. xx

_She Bunnie is nice and pretty and absentminded and screwed up and likes Sally. A lot. … very much a lot?_

Maaaaybe. If you want to interpret it that way, then be my guest. ;) Le sigh. I _wish_ I could write for a living. Dream job or what? But, sadly, I must made do with the more mundane world of teacher. I just worry I'm going to end up pinned to a blackboard with a compass on my first day. Aww, thank you for the compliments. I'm also very picky about my characterisation – for any fandom – so it's nice to hear I'm getting it right. And ooh! Bunnie/Knuckles fanart? You do realise you've got my little cholesterol-filled-heart beating like the clappers now, don't you? I would love you for ever n' ever n' ever if that came to pass. I'd even give you the Big Soulful Puppy-Dog Eyes if it wouldn't cause me to spontaneously combust.

You hate me, **LeDiz**? Well … poop.

_What are you doing to us readers, exactly, Madame Scrib?_

I'm secretly feeding you all manner of drugs that make you open to suggestion, so I can build my own zealous personal army and TAKE OVER THE WORLD. But you didn't hear that from me.

I think Cream is going to join the Archieverse soon, **Dazzling Lenny Geek**. Ken Penders, or someone else important, was mooting the idea before Christmas, so maybe the Fourth Alternate (I like that name) is less alternate than it started out as, eh?

Well, that about wraps things up. If you liked these ficlets, then check out my other Sonic fics (plugplugplugplug). Oh, yeah, and remember – water your Scribbler and feed her reviews twice a day, and she shall never droop, nor her leaves turn brown and drop off.


	6. Coda

**A/N -** I initially released this as a sequel to _Five Things..._ but it didn't sit well. Nobody seemed to know what it was _about, _nor care to find out, so I've now taken the road I probably should have walked at the beginning and appended these five mini 'conclusions' (although how much they fit this title is entirely upb to you) to the original fic. Hopefully this clears up any bother there was before. The numbers at the head of each correspond to the previous chapter they deal with. All reviews welcomed.

Happy trails, people.

_

* * *

_

_Coda_

© Scribbler, (Originally published in) March 2005

* * *

1.

"I'm not … _entirely _sure how this is meant to go."

"You ain't the only one."

"Ain't?"

"Long time since my last elocution lesson, sugar. Cut me some slack, hey?"

They were stood in what had been the House of Rabbot throne room, once upon a time. The only thing reminiscent of that purpose now was a large metal chair, somewhat like a throne, but wide enough to accommodate Robotnik's enormous girth. It stared at them from the centre of a control array, accusing, waiting for a master that would now now never return.

"It's so different," Bunnie murmured, touching one of the cables that streamed from the ceiling. She hadn't even the faintest inkling what it was for.

Knuckles returned the chair's glare and kicked a lifeless conduit on the floor. There was no fear of repercussions, since they had cut power to the entire of Mobotropolis – something they never would have been able to accomplish without the help of Sonic and his emeralds.

"Knuckles?" Bunnie turned to where he had his palms pressed flat against a huge keyboard, forehead resting against an equally huge monitor. Everything seemed dead and damp, choked with lingering sweat and the exhalations of a madman. The only light came from a torch they'd each brought with them.

Knuckles lifted his head and looked at own reflection in the glass. "Just taking a moment." He turned to look at her, eyes perhaps a little overbright. "We did it. We really did it. It's over."

Bunnie thought of the legion of suddenly masterless Robians, the acres of corrupted city, not to mention the far-reaching implications deposing Robotnik would have. His empire was more sprawling than any of them had first thought, and there was no guarantee his generals would cease to operate just because he had.

"No," she said softly. "It's just beginnin'."

"Bunnie?"

"Yes?"

"Can you hold back on the happy act? Okay? Just this once?"

She blinked. Then she smiled – weakly, but it was still a smile. "Give me sumthin' to keep me goin', an' I'll think about it."

In seconds Knuckles had crossed the room, rolled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was quick and hot and fervent, full of all the elation and the apprehension he wasn't able to put into words. When he pulled away her mouth felt quite bruised.

"Deal."

* * *

2.

"Uncle Miles, you're being a jerk!"

Tails looked at his godson and goddaughter and drew in his chin. "I think I should feel insulted by that."

"Please don't." Princess Alicia shot her brother a poisonous look. "We just want to know where you're taking us."

"Someplace special."

"Is it the dragons' temple?" It was said with some hope. Alicia loved visiting Dulcy and her kin, and especially liked riding around in the dragoness's pouch.

But Tails shook his head, pulling back slightly on the airpod's control stick. They skimmed smoothly over the tops of the trees and arced into the desert's coffee glow.

Prince Carl's brow knitted. "It better not be anyplace dumb," he threatened.

Alicia threw a grape at his head. She was two years his junior, but already the height difference between them was almost insignificant. Carl responded by sticking his tongue out and kicking the back of her chair.

"Hey," Tails turned in the cockpit, "stop that, or I'll tell your parents you misbehaved." He would do no such thing, but the warning was enough to quieten them down.

At least for a moment.

"Can you at least give us a hint?" Carl pressed.

"Hey," Alicia broke in, "I can see the Knothole watchtower from here!" She pointed out of the enforced-glass window. "See?"

Tails nodded, but continued on his path out towards the badlands. After fifteen minutes he yanked a handle to cut the thrusters and sent them into a controlled descent. "Here we are."

"Where?" Carl asked, disgusted. "We're in the middle of Dead Country. There's _nothing _interesting _here_."

The airbrakes kicked in, sending up clouds of fine sand that obscured the landscape around them for a moment. When it had cleared, Tails pressed a button to release the airlock on the door. It hissed and folded out in a ramp for them to walk down.

"Uncle Miles?" said Alicia, the question evident in her voice. They were, it seemed, three miles left of nowhere in nature's equivalent of a giant sandbox. There was nothing but sand and rocks in every direction, with not even a cactus to break the monotony. On the horizon, a greenish-brown smudge that signified the Great Forest, and, beyond it, Neo-Mobotropolis.

"You'll see," was all Tails would reply, ushering them down the ramp. "Now, it should be somewhere around here…"

"_What_ should?" Carl demanded, folding his arms with a petulant noise. "This is _so_ dumb. I could be playing bobstones back at the palace right now."

"You always lose at bobstones anyway," Alicia retorted.

"Only because I let you win!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Kids, pipe down a minute, will you?" having found what he was looking for, Tails pointed a small device that could have doubled as a remote control at a sandbank. It buzzed, a single red diode lighting up on its tips. At once there was an answering beep from the sandbank, and a previously concealed door lifted, revealing a silvery corridor leading underground.

"Wow," Carl exclaimed, impressed and beginning to reconsider his aversion to the trip.

"Is that one of Robotnik's old bunker's?" Alicia asked, quoting from her history lessons and drawing closer to Tails's side. She referred to the hundreds of secure emergency bunkers Robotnik had created in case he ever had to underground for some reason – in this case, literally.

"Yup."

"Cool." Carl went closer. "Well? Aren't we going to go in?" he asked over his shoulder.

"The occupant might like it if we introduced ourselves first."

"Huh?"

"Hello, Tails," whirred a voice.

Carl jumped at the figure that had seemingly appeared from nowhere, which now stood in the mouth of the corridor.

"I see y'all brought me some visitors this time." It was not said unkindly, but her inflection had never been _quite _right after her vocal receptors were damaged in the final battle against Robotnik. Bunnie twitched her one and half ears the way any Mobian might do, and even though he knew it was only a minor fritzof her systems, Tails felt comforted by the movement. He could even ignore that while he had grown to adulthood, she was trapped in her teenage body, and how she had forgotten to tuck her upload cable behind her skullplate again, because it was just such a _Bunnie_ thing to do.

"Yup," he said, bringing Alicia out from behind him and presenting her to his old friend. "Say hello to Prince Carl and Princess Alicia, of the House of Acorn."

"Sonic and Sally's kids? Well, don't time fly? Last I saw you two, you was ultrasounds or babes in your momma's arms."

Tails pushed them in the smalls of their backs. "Kids, meet Bunnie Rabbot."

"Formerly of the Mobotropolis Secret Service, computer division." Bunnie clicked her heels together with a metallic chink. "Now of the recluse club, at your service."

Alicia and Carl's mouth were so wide they could each easily have garaged an airpod. After all, it wasn't every day you got to meet a living legend – and that was saying something with the parents _they _had.

Tails's stomach rumbled loudly.

"I think," Bunnie said, "y'all had better come in an' have sumthin' to eat. Provided y'all don't mind freeze-dried foodstuff. Don't got much call for vittles, m'self."

Tails smiled. "That'd be fine, Bunnie."

* * *

3.

"Why don't nobody come to see me no more?"

Pretty Blue passed her a buttered cob and broke an unbuttered one for herself. "They're just busy. It's nothing to worry about."

"Oh." She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then spat the bread onto the floor.

"What's wrong?" Pretty Blue asked, swallowing her own mouthful. "Didn't you like it?"

"There was a genie inside it. He was cryin' to get out."

Pretty Blue's expression became that blend of grim and sad she'd come to know so well. It had only increased since she and Spiky-Spike came back from visiting the old legends. Pretty Blue had cried a lot after that, and come to see her with puffy eyes and lank hair. She'd even let her hug her, once, though she hadn't returned it, and she hadn't let it happen again.

Pretty Blue took another bite of her own cob, perhaps a little defiantly, and ate the rest so fast that conversation was impossible.

A knock sounded at the door. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Pretty Blue called back.

The door opened and a small figure with a basket under one arm slipped through, closing it firmly behind her.

"Red Hood!" she exclaimed. She liked Red Hood almost as much as she liked Pretty Blue. Red Hood was warm and kind and brought all sorts of delicious food. She reminded her of sitting in a warm lap and watching an open fire devour pieces of paper, though she couldn't say where the memory came from.

"I brought you some strawberries," Red Hood said, bringing out a handful of washed red fruit that was still slightly damp. She passed two to Pretty Blue, who then passed one to where she sat on the floor, surrounded by her cards. It was a good reading today. She turned over another two while the strawberry was placed in her open palm.

Red Hood sat on the bed. "Any change?" she mouthed.

Pretty Blue shook her head dejectedly, wearily.

Another card. A small frown creased her brow. She stared at it and then up at Pretty Blue and Red Hood, narrowing her eyes in thoughtful concentration. Then, before either of them could stop her, she brought both hands together and squashed the strawberry into a pulpy mess. Juice ran between her fingers, dripping onto the floor and making the cards sticky.

The eyes of the two perched on the bed rounded.

"It was a bad reading," she explained simply. "It's always a bad reading."

* * *

4.

They stood on the edge of Rosie's grave and tried not to let each other see their tears.

After a moment, Cream used her sleeve as a handkerchief and bowed her head. Bunnie just kept staring at the simple marker – all they had to remember a creature with enough love in her heart to heal a million cuts and bruises. Rosie had not died in battle, but of old age and a weak heart – quiet and dignified, the same way she had lived.

A bikkerbird flew overhead, calling loudly in its raucous voice.

"You once told me," Cream said after a moment, "that just because you _can_ fight doesn't mean you have to."

"Did I?"

She nodded. "You know, I didn't get it when you told me."

"An' you do now?" She wouldn't be the first creature to have a graveside epiphany.

"Oh, I understood it a long time ago. It just seemed … appropriate to bring it up now."

Bunnie looked sidelong at her, this little girl who wasn't so little anymore. Cream stood taller than her adoptive parent, even with her ears flopped back, and carried with her a kind of gracious benevolence that Bunnie was certain she could never have learned from _her_.

"Yeah," she replied. "I guess it suits the moment, don't it?"

Cream nodded and knelt to place the flowers on the grave. There were already bunches of them scattered around, positioned in every available spot. The largest was clearly from Sally and Sonic, and was shaped like a giant horseshoe that fitted neatly around the marker. There were flowers there from people who hadn't even known Rosie – creatures who had come back to Mobotropolis after Robotnik was gone. Bunnie was just glad Rosie had lived to see that victory before she went to sleep one night and just … didn't wake up again.

They stood by the grave for a good few minutes more, saying nothing, comfortable in each other's company.

Finally, it was Cream who spoke. "It's getting late. We should get going."

"Yeah. Yeah, just … just gimmie a minute."

She nodded and walked away, giving Bunnie the privacy she needed.

Bunnie descended creakily to her knees and placed a hand in the centre of the marker. "Well, Rosie, here we are. A good deal older, an' a good deal wiser." She paused, taking a moment to organise her thoughts. "Reckon we did a good job on that gal," she murmured at last. "A real good job. You'd be proud of her, I'm sure of it." She glanced down to where Cream was sitting by the airpod with her knees drawn up to her chest, watching dirty white clouds scud through the sky. "Real proud."

* * *

5.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Not on me, you ain't!" Bettina glowered at her sister.

"Hey, don't make me separate you kids," Vector warned, eyes pressed so tight to the binoculars they'd left little rings in his scales.

"Well she started it," Bettina grumped, folding her arms.

Bunnie might have countered with some scathing remark, except that she was trying very hard to hold onto her lunch. She cupped a hand around her eyes and squinted. "Any sign, Vec?"

"I'd have said something if there was so much as a hair."

"Point."

Bettina rolled her eyes.

The fourth member of their little group scratched the back of his head and yawned.

"Burrow-bogs, Mighty, don't y'all sleep _enough _without yawnin' all over the place?" Bettina sniped.

"I can't help it if my metabolism's slow," he defended, stifling another. "It's this heat, too. I get sleepy when I'm comfortable."

She looked as thought she wanted to hit him. It was plausible that only the thought of Beryl's wrath stayed her fist. Everyone except Mighty himself knew of Beryl's crush, and the fanatical way she defended so much as the _hint _of a bad word said against him. She and Bettina had fought over it before, though they had been broken up before they got beyond scratches and hair pulling.

"Hey," Vector hissed, flailing a hand, "I think I see something, dawgs!"

"What?" asked Bunnie, heart, stomach, and a few other vital organs leaping into her throat.

"It's hard to make out, but it looks like…" He drew his eyes away from the lenses and blinked, then replaced them. "A dragon?"

Mighty frowned. "I thought all dragons were all roboticised."

"Well this one's still flesh and blood. Not too big, though. Maybe it ain't fully grown."

"Did the communication say anythin 'bout a dragon?" Bettina demanded of Bunnie.

"No," her sister replied. "Although, come to think of it, they didn't much 'bout any mode of transportation. The signal weren't too good, an' we didn't have much time 'afore it gave out."

"Wonderful. Perfect. So this could easily be a trap, then. Just what you _got_ 'tween those ears, Bunnie? Cabbage leaves?"

"Maybe it's just lost and looking for someone to ask for directions," Mighty suggested.

Bettina glowered at him in a way that said: lynching follows. Start trembling.

"Uh-oh – incoming!" Vector yelled. He followed with, "Hit the deck!" complying with his own advice by burying his nose in the dirt.

A rapid burst of laserfire pursued the small dragon as it skimmed in and then out again, obviously thrown by the attack, even though Bunnie had been very specific in warning them about the SWATbot sentries in her message. It circled around for a minute, ducking its head towards its own belly in a most peculiar manner. Then it wheeled back, filling its lungs with air so that they swelled to gigantic proportions. A blast of white from its nostrils enveloped half of the sentries below them, and a second lungful polished off the rest. They glinted in the weak pre-dawn sun, and Bunnie realised with some shock that they had all been frozen solid.

"Well, I'll be jiggered," she heard Bettina mutter, also looking down at the sentries. "That must be mighty handy to have around."

"Huh? What was that?" Mighty sat up behind them. "I'm handy to have around?"

Bettina closed her eyes. "One, two, three, four, five…"

The dragon looped this way and that above them. Bunnie was considering waving the old tablecloth they'd brought out with them to use as a signal, but before she could the creature had dropped lower in the sky again. It didn't seem to want to land, instead slowing itself so that a couple of small … _somethings_ could leap from its midriff.

_A pouch,_ Bunnie realised. _Like a kangaroo's_. The dragon had been talking to someone riding in it before – the same someone who was now landing neatly in front of her little group. Two someones, actually. The first was a blue hedgehog wearing a pair of running shoes, a self-confident smirk and a glitter in his eye. The other was more familiar, despite the transition from grainy black and white image – built like a sparrow with a growth hormone deficiency, hair piled on top of her head, and intense eyes that Bunnie now saw were a blue just a shade lighter than the hedgehog's spikes. They looked questioningly at the mismatched foursome.

"Hey, Bunster," Vector whispered. "I think that's your cue."

Bunnie took a deep breath and stepped forward. Her heart was thundering like sapholopods across the wasteland, and her insides were collapsing like ice-cream in the heat. Still, she pasted on a brave face and stuck out her hand. "Princess Sally, I presume?"

The princess had a gentle but compelling smile. "You presume correct." She shook Bunnie's hand. "And I presume you're Bunnie Rabbot?"

"Y'all ain't too bad at presumin' yourself," Bunnie grinned, instantly at ease. "Welcome to the ancestral home of the Rabbot Clan."

Behind her, Vector coughed.

"An' guests."

Princess Sally nodded and held onto Bunnie's hand for perhaps a second more than was necessary. It tingled when she let go. "Perhaps we'd best get inside for the rest of the introductions. We have a lot to talk about."

"Finally," Bettina muttered as they filed in through the long-disused emergency exit. None of the Rabbot sisters had known of its existence, and it was only a freak discovery in the library by Espio that led them to locate it from old maps and unblock so they had a place to meet their visitors safely. "Some _action_."

The hedgehog grinned. "I'm liking this place already."

* * *

FINIS.

* * *


End file.
